


Turn the Page

by BuffyRowan



Series: Silver Bullets in the Jukebox [1]
Category: Criminal Minds
Genre: Gen, Introspection, it's not the years it's the milage, songfic without song lyrics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-16
Updated: 2013-03-16
Packaged: 2017-12-05 11:03:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 705
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/722455
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BuffyRowan/pseuds/BuffyRowan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When you're riding sixteen hours and there's nothing much to do.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Turn the Page

**Author's Note:**

> this is the only story in the series not set after a specific episode. The mention of the Butcher puts it somewhere mid to late season 6.

Back in the early days, they'd had to fly commercial to cases. Surrounded by civilians, there was no chance to discuss the profile, or even to look over the case file. After the little boy had stood on his seat and seen the pictures Max had been looking at and started screaming bloody murder, they'd had an unofficial policy of keeping case files in their briefcases until they were either at a hotel room or a police station. These days Dave gave thanks for the jet every time they took off. It wasn't just the prep time it gave them, either. It was the opportunity it offered to decompress. It was o-dark-hundred, and they were on their way home from Omaha, or Ohio, or someplace that started with an O. After all the years traveling to cases, doing book tours, and back to traveling with the FBI, it all blurred together in Dave's mind. The hotel rooms were better quality, but they all still looked like hotel rooms.

Dave slouched a little more in his seat, stretching his legs out in front of him. The smooth thrum of the jet's engines a familiar rumble in his bones. His third wife always said he had a wandering soul, never happy in one place or with one woman. Despite all the times he'd asked her to join him on book tour, she'd always refused. But every time he came back she accused him of having affairs while he was out of town. She'd had this image of him as some kind of Cassanova, a woman in every city. Dave had never quite understood where she'd gotten that idea. Sure, he'd look and would flirt, but he had boundaries. He never cheated, and he never messed around with someone in a relationship with someone else. Serial monogamy was the current pop psychology term for his dating habits, he thought. At least Emily and JJ seemed to have a higher opinion of him. The whole team teased him about his dating history. But the women on the team wouldn't treat him like family if they actually believed everything gossip said about him.

Dave sat upright and sighed. They'd be in the air another two and a half hours. He'd be glad to get home to his own bed, cooking in his kitchen, and his dog. Dave pulled out his laptop, figuring he'd make a virtue of his insomnia by working on his new book. Everyone else was asleep except Aaron. And the only reason he was still awake was because he was finishing his paperwork so there would be no distractions during his time at home with Jack. Dave didn't blame him, his time with his son was probably the best thing Aaron could do to fight burnout.

Not that the last case had been anything that unusual in their line of work. Another unsub, another police station, another welcome wall. It never changed, from the days he was walking in with Max and Jason, to now with Spencer or Emily at his side. The same old territorial disputes between FBI and local law enforcement, fed by the same tired old stereotypes of the FBI and its agents. It wasn't worth challenging the locals, for the most part. They'd just go on with the business of profiling, ignoring the hostile looks. If necessary, to provoke a reaction they needed, Dave was willing to play the egotistical asshole people expected a famous author to be.

None of that really mattered. It still all ended with Dave sitting staring at the blinking cursor of the chapter heading of the next chapter of his new book, while the rest of the team slept the sleep of the righteous, exhausted from the chase that had ended in a successful capture. This time. But the memory of his mutilated victims was too fresh, too raw, haunting him when he closed his eyes. So he'd spend the time finally writing about The Butcher. Not that those memories were any nicer, but time and finally catching the son of a bitch had softened them. The anger and the horror they brought up were familiar, worn into familiar patterns, moving in a steady rhythm to their end.

**Author's Note:**

> yes, I know, the title of the series is from the lyrics of a Meatloaf song, but all the stories tie back to songs by Bob Seeger and the Silver Bullet Band. It was the best I could come up with :)


End file.
